


that's why we're making headlines

by sysupportgroup



Series: the yoon magpies [1]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: ACAB, Alternate Universe - Space, Crimes & Criminals, Exes to Lovers, M/M, Team as Family, be gay do crime but in space?, non-binary jeonghan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:07:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26140837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sysupportgroup/pseuds/sysupportgroup
Summary: When Seungcheol retires from the NSPD, all he wanted was a quiet life.A fuckton of adultery cases, a few attempts on his life, and one invitation to join the (very illegal) Yoon Magpies later, he’s given up on the prospect of that altogether.
Relationships: Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Hong Jisoo | Joshua, Kim Mingyu/Xu Ming Hao | The8
Series: the yoon magpies [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2127504
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24
Collections: Coup de Cœur - Round 1





	that's why we're making headlines

**Author's Note:**

> au inspired by juno steel (the penumbra podcast)
> 
> took some liberties with prompt 206: _Things get tricky for intergalactic space cop Seungcheol when he accidentally runs into the bandit that's wanted on five planets for various crimes—who is also, coincidentally, Seungcheol's ex-boyfriend._

One week it’s a helitrope that misses him by a hair. The next day it’s coming home to an apartment, singular reinforced brick sitting pretty in the middle of his living room surrounded by dull shards of glass. The next hour it’s his old employers showing up at his door, interrogating him about attempted break-ins. 

“It’s my own apartment,” he says flatly, “you came around here to watch the game once, Jay, you know that.” He tries his best to keep his arms relaxed by his side, fingers harmless and uncurled. 

Jay shrugs, face perfectly neutral even as he’s tossing his stun baton up and down in his hand, a menacing glowstick, “It was a good game. Still gotta follow protocol though, sorry my man.”

He’s not sorry - the gash in his cheek, burn marks along his arms and legs are proof enough. Some protocol.

Seungcheol spends a night in the cells at his old station, watching the same people he used to work with punch each other friendly-like in the shoulder, complain about the coffee machine breaking down again, pore over case files together. All like their ex-coworker isn’t bleeding out sluggishly from their shoulder, not even twenty meters away.

A woman, stuck in the same holding cell as him, peers over his prostrate body, indifferent. She’s relatively clean, plasma cuffs the only marker that she’s just as trapped as he is. Must be a distant Kanagawa, maybe he’s seen her on a stream or two before.

“What’d you do to them?”

Seungcheol barks out a laugh. The motion hurts him - he’s pretty sure a massive bruise is blooming on his stomach, courtesy of a few friendly kicks delivered by his ex-colleagues last night. He coughs and tastes the tang of iron in his mouth, forces out a smile that distorts into a bloody grimace: “I was motherfucking employee of the year.”

They let him go in the morning with a slap on the back, just too hard to be friendly. _See you soon_ , they say, and smile like they know something. 

Seungcheol limps to his office, one leg dragging behind him like a body sack, and crumples against the door once he gets in, catching his breath. They got to his practice too, he realises belatedly, casting a tired eye around at the mess. Files yanked out of drawers, black spots where some small fires were set, table cracked in half.

He sighs and scrubs his hand over his face. He doesn’t like his office that much, no. But when you’ve scraped a living out of a shitty hole in the wall for the last seven months, it becomes _your_ shitty hole in the wall. Your shitty hole full of nothing but black mould, the seeds of shattered marriages, and one half-dead pot plant. 

He turns his head towards the musty corner and sighs at the remnants of pot and plant littering the faded carpet. One fully dead pot plant now. 

He can foresee his future reflected there. Death just as certain if he doesn’t leave Mars anytime soon, smuggle himself out under their radar before he meets with another ‘accident’. It’s useless to go at it himself, they’ve got all the ports under watch. It’s not like he’s got any friends lingering around either - all his old contacts would sell him out for a box full of chalky cigarettes at this point.

He barks out a laugh, sharp, and the sound dies just as quick, sucked up by the loneliness of scorched walls and shadows. For a moment, he closes his eyes. Lets himself rest, soak in the bone-tired exhaustion saturating his bones. He’s given up so much of himself to the city, only for it to turn on him with mean eyes and a meaner laugh, shoot him down with the same gun he used to protect it once. It’s getting hard, too hard. He’s ready for it to stop, if he were a more honest man, he’d dare to say he’s desperate for it. 

The choice was never his, he supposes. Seungcheol pats across his worn jacket, draws out his last chance: an embossed business card. Shiny black text like polished leather, stamped on matte white. ‘Yoon’ it says, followed by a comms number. 

He’s secreted this away for weeks ever since he woke up to windows closed, just the way he left them, but the card tucked right into the waistband of his boxers. (He refuses to think about the implications of that). Anyone who knows anyone knows what this means.

An offer. A lifeline. His only means off this godforsaken planet.

So he sends a message to it: _need to leave mars._

His comms shivers in his hand, blurting out a reply near-instantaneously: _tomorrow, five hundred hours. be ready._

They don’t beam him up or anything. 

“Too fancy?” Seungcheol asks his escort, a slender humanoid dressed entirely in black. The sharp point of his ears and the glint of studs lining their rims give him away as Outer Ring. Or something. Definitely not Martian. 

“Tacky.” His escort says curtly with a tinge of distaste. It’s the only word he’s spoken since they left Seungcheol’s office at a brisk pace, reaching a car hovered five blocks away to sweep them outside the city limits. 

NeoSeoul is in the rearview mirror now. Highscrapers morphed into tendrils reaching out to the galaxies above, giant billboards twinkling like little pins of commercialism and false hope, ‘Megacity of Life’ shrouded in dust. 

Seungcheol coughs into his hand, shifting nervously. His fingers itch for the weight of his stun in his hand, the assurance that comes with his finger on the trigger. He’s starting to question his decision now - he wanted to run away temporarily before his disappearance was made permanent but there’s a very possible chance he’s just chosen another way to die instead. Organic organs are becoming trendy again, he hears.

“Do you… Can I call you something?” He ventures, eager to disrupt the blanket of silence that has descended upon them. Seungcheol doesn’t like silence, it sits on his chest heavy, makes his thoughts hurl into overdrive. It was atrocious for his power bills, having his streamcaster run so constantly for that little bit of life, never mind if the sound was tinny and laughter canned.

“Wait until the Magpie.” His escort utters and doesn’t say anything more, a single hand pushing his silver-framed glasses up his nose bridge. They reflect light peculiarly, a strange shimmer across their lenses, but Seungcheol doesn’t look too long in case he decides he’s not worth the trouble and dumps him out halfway to… the ship he supposes. The infamous Magpie.

It’s not like he doesn’t know where he’s going. If he’s guessed right and is currently not being tricked into some long con to ‘donate’ his own hard-grown organs, he’s been… recruited, for lack of a better word, by the Yoon family. 

The Yoon _Crime_ Family. 

It’s a real great time to be a cop.

“Back.” His escort announces, shrugging his bag off his shoulder. He throws the keys for the car into a vase set on the elegant table stretching out before them, a weightless calculated arc. 

Seungcheol does a double take - the vase looks awfully like one of the treasures robbed from Archduke Huegh’s birthday display four years ago. 

He finds himself staggering to it in shock, eyes nearly bulging out of his head. He remembers everyone going apeshit over this when the theft had occurred, sixty one pieces worth over three million star credits altogether vanishing in the space of an hour and one very upset Archduke blacking out every streamcaster every night for a week to demand their return. 

And then, just as suddenly as the theft was discovered... he stopped. 

Seungcheol’s throat goes dry as he picks it up with a trembling hand. The Yoon Family’s reputation is impressive as he knows it but for the first time he’s realising that what he _knows_ may just be the tip of it. 

Cold creeps up around his heart like miasma - is he even allowed to touch this? Is he going to get thrown out into the vast desert and left to die from radiation poisoning? Thrown out to suffocate in open space? He opens his mouth to ask his escort but the long coat disappearing around a corner, clearly dismissive, makes him purse his lips together instead. He takes in the beautiful goldwork etched into the surface of the artifact, runs a finger over how the metal has welded the cracks together. He’s almost anticipating when he peers into its belly - priceless jewels, old maps, designer drugs - but finds himself disappointed by the smattering of domestic objects he finds in there: car keys, a memory cube, pen, a spare charging device. 

“Looking for something to steal already? Got a bit ahead of ourselves there, didn’t we Cheollie?”

The voice sends an uncomfortable shiver through him, the lilting tone making him uneasy in ways he thought he would never know again after the events of his ‘resignation’. Heels clack on the metallic flooring and it’s a wonder the blades of them don’t wedge themselves into the grilles. Seungcheol supposes this person has had a lot of practice. 

Seungcheol shuffles around nervously as he turns around, giving a weak smile as he clutches the pen he’d fished out from the vase’s belly, “Just uh, looking around. No stealing here.”

“What a shame, I do prefer proactive members of the family.” 

A figure emerges, long and lean with a shock of platinum blond hair cropped just above the ears. Their pants billow around their legs like a skirt, the kind either worth five or five thousand creds, and they toy with their own dangling earring as they stalk their way over.

“You’re Yoon?” Seungcheol asks, goosebumps pricking up on the back of his neck. Danger electrifies the air, has Seungcheol suppressing his fight or flight instinct that tells him he’s in so far too far above his head.

“Oh please,” scarlet lips curve in a saccharine smile as they fold themselves elegantly into the chair at the head of the table. It’s serpentine almost, the way their bones seem to go fluid, the near impossibility of it pulling Seungcheol in like hypnosis. They lean back in the chair lazily, look at Seungcheol under half-lidded eyes and purr, “call me Jeonghan.” 

“I-I’m Seungcheol.” Seungcheol says, mouth dry, realising the redundancy of his introduction as soon as the words leave. He flinches and busies himself with replacing the pen in the vase. He nearly loses his grip on it before it falls in with a light clink and he shoves his hands deep into his bomber before they can do more damage. He fantasises about his stun, knowing that he’ll only find an empty holster if he reaches for it. 

They took it away from him. They took away most things. 

“Yes,” Jeonghan says, eyes never leaving Seungcheol’s, “yes you are. Take a seat, _Cheollie_. Everyone else will be up soon, you’re just in time for breakfast.”

Introductions start after most of the family have shuffled into the dining area, a mix of bleary eyes and suspicion aimed towards him. They’re still missing one person apparently - a fellow Martian. Jeonghan tells him that he’ll like Jisoo but Seungcheol’s not sure yet how much of their word he can trust. 

They get started anyways.

To his right is Chan, the only one with an attitude carefree enough to plunk himself down next to Seungcheol with no reservation in his eyes. He looks young - too young to be wrapped up in such a sleek operation like this and Seungcheol has questions on the tip of his tongue, borne from the time he spent in the streets, trying to coax urchins and pickpockets towards a brighter life before he realised the light source was a fluorescent bulb in a cell on the colonies somewhere. 

Then it’s Eight, his escort from earlier. He says his name then flexes his hand slightly, enough for Seungcheol to notice all the wires crossing under his skin - synthetic, it must be - bulging like veins. Seungcheol looks up sharply and nods slow: message received. Eight doesn’t say anything back, stares placid and unyielding, but his shoulders lose some of their tension and Seungcheol tastes victory on his tongue anyways. 

Mingyu seems sweet - he volunteers his name freely, asks Seungcheol how he likes his coffee in the mornings and if he has any dietary requirements. He’s the cook apparently, a fact he brandishes with glee. He’s also the medic which means that if he does poison Seungcheol, at least he’s going to take responsibility for it. Minghao makes a quip, some in-joke that flies galaxies over Seungcheol’s head, but evidently one that makes Mingyu throw his head back and laugh belly-deep. The big knife in his hand comes dangerously close to Seungcheol’s ear and Seungcheol flinches, a hand flying to his side instinctually - no one comes out of NeoSeoul without a few traumas to bear. 

Eight’s small pleased smile eked out by Mingyu’s joke only grows. Seungcheol shudders, finds goosebumps pricking the back of his neck, and vows to steer away from wherever Eight’s quarters on the ship are.

Jeonghan is the only one left after that.

“Jeonghan Yoon,” they announce, twirling a fork in their hand. They stab at a roasted sim-tomato, one swift blow and its GMO guts spill out, red and glistening, “or Captain, whichever flies. The person who brought this whole family together, isn’t that right Channie.”

“Yes Captain,” Chan rolls his eyes, shoving a forkful of tomato into his mouth, chewing with an uncaring chomp, the way that only a teenage boy can, “so grateful Captain. Wouldn’t be here without you Captain.”

“Exactly,” Jeonghan looks pleased, even with the evident sass in Chan’s voice, “at least one person recognises my contributions.” 

“We recognise your contributions!” Mingyu chirps, digging into his rice porridge with gusto. He gets a little of it on the side of his mouth. A lot of it, actually. A glob drips off his chin.

Seungcheol winces and drinks his coffee.

"Do you, Mingyu?" Jeonghan snorts and rolls their eyes. Seungcheol might be hallucinating but he thinks he sees a fondness there, hidden under all those razor sharp teeth. "I don't know if I really feel the love, not with all of those.. _activities_ , when I'm trying to catch some sleep."

Seungcheol hacks up a mouthful of coffee, the same time that Eight splutters on his own, slamming the mug down through hacked coughs. 

“It’s not - “ He tries and aborts, met with the tricky curl of Jeonghan’s smirk. Growling to himself in embarrassment, he pushes his chair out with a screech and excuses himself brusquely.

Mingyu stares after him plaintively before beaming Jeonghan down with big puppy eyes, "You knew?"

"It's my ship," Jeonghan shrugs with one fine-boned shoulder, "I always know. The walls of the Magpie are thin, sweetie." They rest their fork on the table, swiping a thumb at the edge of their crimson mouth, "You might want to go after him now before he shuts down, you know the way he gets."

Mingyu bites his lip, fidgeting with his hands, "But the dishes…"

"Channie and Cheollie will do them!" Jeonghan claps their hands together breezily. "Family bonding activity, it works out well for everyone."

"Not me," Chan whines, reaching across the table to drag Eight's abandoned plate towards him, polishing it off, "why aren't you doing anything?"

"Because it's my ship, my rules," Jeonghan proclaims with a wave of their hand, "and _someone_ needs to keep on the path for Hyegard, we wouldn't want a repeat of Gardneir XI would we?"

Chan goes emergency alarm red at that, all the way up to his ears like an antique mercury thermometer, "I thought we weren't going to talk about that anymore!"

"Your first and last time Channie," Jeonghan throws their head back in a laugh, mirth dancing alive, "show Cheollie the ropes, won't you? And add him to the chores roster, whilst you’re at it. Come on Mingyu, let's head off."

And with that, they polish off their mug of… something, too orange and reflective to be something innocuous like juice, and troops off down the corridor with a long sinuous arm draped around Mingyu's broad shoulders. The _clack clack clack_ of their heels fade out as the shadow of their’s and Mingyu’s backs disappear the same way that Eight's did.

"Ugh," Chan grumbles, taking the dishes he can carry into the little nook of the kitchen. Seungcheol follows with cups and the rest of the bowls in hand, slightly off-balance by the jokes he’s too fresh to understand, “don’t worry, you’ll get used to the Captain. Probably.”

“Probably?”

“They’re kinda,” Chan screws his nose up, clattering around with the dishes as he stacks them unceremoniously in the sink. Seungcheol shoves his hands in his pocket and watches with a wary type of fascination - he hasn’t seen someone do dishes the Old Martian way ever since he moonlighted in a themed restaurant in his younger days, “well, you’ll see. They’re a good Captain though, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not worried about anything,” Seungcheol says like the lying liar he is, “just uh, looking around the kitchen. It’s retro.”

“If by retro you just mean old as the ozone sure,” Chan snorts, getting his scrub on as Seungcheol hovers and tries to remember how he can help, “Jeonghan just couldn’t be fucked getting a more modern ship. Just had to insist on getting this one - it came from a Martian enthusiast, y’know. Wanted _cash_ too. Took me hours to try and find anywhere we could still get that from.”

“A pawn shop?”

“Better,” Chan grins and hipchecks Seungcheol gently, nudging him in the direction of a rag hanging off a drawer handle, “some rich collector’s place on… I don’t know, Archimes or something.”

Seungcheol picks up the rag and follows body memory, drying plates one by one, “I’m surprised they were willing to let those go to you guys.”

“Let those go…” Chan stares at him blankly for a second before bursting into peals of laughter, “oh, you think we _bought_ them?”

Seungcheol pauses in his task, takes a few seconds to remember where he is and who he’s washing dishes with and for, and immediately wants to slap himself right off the ship.

“R-right.” He cringes, keeping his head and burning ears down. He knows he’s been recruited for a reason, whatever it is. Something less than legal. It’s still taking a while to sink in. “Right. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” Chan shakes his head, but when he looks at Seungcheol again, there’s a strange look in his eye, “say, where did Jeonghan recruit you from again?”

“NeoSeoul?”

Chan makes an impatient noise, “But you know - _where._ Were you one of his thief friends? Ex-triad? Forgery?”

Seungcheol clears his throat and puts the last plate down, shuffling the damp rag around in his hand before draping it over the chrome handles of the nearest knob, “Uh, a PI? Used to be with the NeoSeoul Police Department?”

“You’re police?”

“...Was.”

Chan whistles lowly. Seungcheol swallows right past the lump in his throat, stuffs all the shame down into a box marked ‘Do Not Open’ in the corners of his mind, tries not to let it leak to the surface. He’s already preparing for the kid to walk right out of here and tell Jeonghan to drop him off at the next planet they pass - no criminal exactly walks away from the police with a five star review, much less the NSPD.

To his surprise though, Chan just purses his lips and says thoughtfully, “You know, that kinda makes sense.” 

And then he claps him on the back cheerfully like nothing had ever transpired, gestures to the corridors with a tilt of his head, “So, want the grand tour?”

The ship is in pretty decent condition for an artifact kept in storage for what must have been three hundred years or so. After all, that was probably the last time a ship like this was ever made. It’s all ironcast, seams where welding sticks out like a sore thumb and old-fashioned doors with knobs set in them and locks that actually turn. Seungcheol can’t help staring, feels like he’s tiptoeing around in a museum relic as Chan leads him down the long corridor, overlit with lights that have never seen a duster in their lives. 

It’s strange - he never would’ve pegged Jeonghan as an Old Martian enthusiast. 

“And here we’ve got my room, Eight’s and Jeonghan’s is last.” Chan gestures at the doors studding the corridor, each looking exactly the same as the last. “The other rooms are - “

The middle door swings open and Eight walks out - a different outfit now, that long flapping coat abandoned and a black fitted mesh shirt taking its place. He wears a strip of fabric across his long neck like a choker but when he gets closer, it’s not like any choker Seungcheol’s ever seen, looks more functional than accessory. He scowls when he sees Seungcheol’s figure blocking the hallway though it softens a little when he sets eyes on Chan, striding down the hallway to ruffle his hair like Seungcheol isn’t even there.

“We’ll be landing soon,” he says cryptically and eyes Seungcheol with distaste before his eyes cut back, “remember the task.”

“Yeah yeah,” Chan rolls his eyes, grins languidly, “I’ve got it, Eight.” He pulls out his comms and navigates swiftly to a screen filled with dot points. He turns it around and waves it in Eight’s face. “See?”

“You’re missing Mingyu’s meds,” Eight says coolly, not missing a beat, “and don’t forget the…”

He looks at Seungcheol swiftly before evidently deciding he’s not worth the trouble. Seungcheol swallows and mentally tries to become one with the wall, shrinking in on himself like he can reduce his presence like that. He accidentally bumps against a painting that way, knocking it askew.

“...you know.” Is it just him or does Eight’s voice sour even more?

Seungcheol whirls around quickly to straighten the painting up again in case that was what provoked Eight’s ire. He manages to take a better look at it once he’s properly seeing it, pausing for a moment to take it in. It’s just one in what must be a series of four abstracts, lined neatly on the wall with a grand frame and signed off in a thin flick of white, an infinity sign and scribble of a name at the bottom. Seungcheol cradles the frame gently in his hands as he angles it parallel with the others again, appreciating the orange-yellow-blue of the colours melding into each other like a depiction of flame bursting underwater. 

“I know,” Chan is saying in the background, tone nearly pitching up into a whine, “I wouldn’t _forget_.” He hums, puffing out his chest, “I’m kinda feeling good about it though.”

A curt laugh. “Want to bet?”

“What are we betting on?”

“I win, you drag everyone else out of the ship for a night. You win, I’ll let you tinker with this.” Eight nods towards something and Seungcheol practically hears Chan ignite with disbelief, a trill of elation underpinning his voice.

“Seriously? You sure?”

“Only if you’re sure you can entertain Jeonghan for a whole night. Might honestly be harder than me sitting still for an hour whilst you muck around in there.”

Seungcheol lets the noise fade into the background. Peers a little closer at the picture and manages to make out the scribble as Jeonghan’s name. The curiosity spreads through him like a blaze, relentless and itchy under his skin. How strange, for a ship likely full of stolen exotic treasures to display something so personal. 

He’s startled out of his thoughts by the hearty slap that Chan delivers to his back: “You’re on!”

The impact makes him choke on his spittle and cough a few times. Eight swoops in, scowl darkening even more if possible as he puts his body between Seungcheol and the painting like a shield. He fusses over the frame, back turned to Chan and Seungcheol, but turns his head back as Chan leads Seungcheol to make a quick escape into his room.

“Good luck.” He says. Seungcheol’s tempted to tell him to get some bandages for his insincerity, bleeding through his tone in long slow drips. His eyes are dark and smug and in this light, Seungcheol’s not quite sure whether it’s him or Chan he’s talking to, “Have fun.”

Hyegard is one of the busiest port cities on this side of the galaxy. 

Seungcheol hasn’t been here much - once on a training camp for the NSPD, another during a truancy with friends when he was still in school. There would’ve been a third trip planned in there, once upon a time. Hyegard’s markets in the day, its outskirts at night. Cheesy, but it had been number three on the list of date spots he had aimlessly jotted down on the back of a Section 768 form, hoping to… Well.

Seungcheol gives himself a mental shakedown, pulling himself out of the quicksand of his thoughts. 

They’re not here to do that today. Well at least he and Chan aren’t - he’d seen Eight and Mingyu swallowed up by the lush depths of highscrapers and crowds before, muttering something about parts and repairs. Who knows where they are now, what they’re doing. 

Jeonghan, on the other hand, is off to meet with the last member of their little crew - Jisoo, if Seungcheol remembers right. Just like Seungcheol, he seems to be fresh meat too, none of the crew showing a flicker of recognition at the name, and Seungcheol finds solace in the thought that they’re at least going to suffer through adjustment together. _You’ll like him_ , Jeonghan had said, an unreadable look in their eye like repeating it multiple times would make it true, before breaking into a loaded grin. _Cheer up Cheollie._

It’s kind of hard to do that. Cheer up, that is. Even though it’s only been a day or two since Seungcheol’s been on the Magpie, he’s finding it hard to ever envision he could settle in. Sure, Chan and Mingyu are friendly - or maybe just chatty - but everything still feels so stilted, a veil of… _something_ separating them everytime he wanders his way to Chan’s room to talk about streams or when he tries to help Mingyu out in the kitchen. Interacting with Chan and Mingyu is the least of his worry though, not when Eight still prefers to skirt around him and Seungcheo still prefers to skirt around Jeonghan. 

He still has a healthy (in his opinion) distrust of authority, one of the many scars his last job left him with, but at least Jeonghan doesn’t push too hard on the title of Captain. Or at all, really. 

(“You’ll still have to pass your probation anyway,” Jeonghan had told him the other day, that awkward silence filling the space between them as Seungcheol gathered up the dishes from the table, “there’s no point in getting too close before that, I’m sure you understand my position Cheollie.”

“Probation?”

“Nothing to worry about too much,” Jeonghan laughs, no humour in it, just those impossibly sharp teeth in a pink maw, “just keep sharp, sweetie.”)

“Seungcheol, keep up!”

“I’m trying!” Seungcheol yelps, jolting to the left as Chan steers him away from crashing right into a haggle quickly veering sour. “Why are there so many people!”

“It’s Hyegard,” Chan slows down, Seungcheol catching up five steps with a reddened face and shortened breath - stuttering apologies and wheeling away from a particularly persistent shopkeeper, nearly smacking another patron in the face - before he can match pace with Chan. He has that Venusian face cream in hand though, the one that Eight had very specifically requested and whose price had nearly made Seungcheol keel over, and he stuffs it right into their shopping bag, leaning over to Chan’s tablet to tick it off the list, “even a radiation wave wouldn’t keep people away from the markets.”

“Still...” Seungcheol grumbles petulantly, sweeping his eyes over the list, “Anyways, what next?”

“Mingyu wants us to pick up more rations,” Chan says, “and I want ice cream.”

Seungcheol looks at Chan’s face dubiously, the boy looking back at him with wide innocent eyes, “Did Jeonghan authorise the creds for that?”

“I’m a growing boy.” Chan says wisely in lieu of an answer, leading Seungcheol through the crowds with a sure-footed wisdom, so much swagger in his step that seems to come easy as breathing. 

“Are you actually?” A boy, he means. Seungcheol still has no idea how old Chan actually is.

His words are swallowed up by the crowds before they can reach Chan’s ears. Seungcheol tries his best to catch-up, tread the same path that Chan left, but the crowd flows too fast, nearly sweeps him away again between the push-pull-tug-yank of bodies. 

“Why are you so slow?” Chan slows down again and watches Seungcheol struggle to get to him with amusement on his face, finally doubling back to get him and dragging them into a tiny alley, barely wide enough to fit Seungcheol’s shoulders, when it’s evident Seungcheol needs to take a breather.

“Why are you not?” Seungcheol counters, whiny. “It’s not normal to be able to navigate through a Hyegard crowd that easily, it’s so not fair.”

The crowds are infamous for their density. Seungcheol’s pretty sure it’s been one of the mini-games for the Galaxial Race a few times, competitors set up at one end of the markets and challenged to get to the other end before the rest only for them all to end up right where they started, practically bouncing off all the bodies swarming the main alley. 

“Got training from the best,” Chan humble-brags, shaking his hair out of his bright eyes, “though I reckon I’m going to get better than the Cap someday.”

“Jeonghan taught you?”

“I mean everyone’s gotta know a little pickpocketing, y’know?”

“You were _pickpocketing_?”

Chan gives him a dry look, and pulls his spoils out of his pockets: three bracelets, a comms caster with a glitzy charm hanging off of it, seven rings - even someone’s fucking stun and that’s gotta be illegal.

“Oh no,” Seungcheol finds himself saying, that persistent moral conscience coming to the forefront despite the way his fingers twitch at the sight of the stun, “you gotta give those back.”

Chan laughs but his boyish tone has died away a little, replaced by a harder edge, “Sure, if you can find the owners out there. Who cares anyway, they won’t miss these.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Um,” Chan says, stuffing the items back into his pocket roughly, “yeah, I think I do. If they really cared about their stuff, they wouldn’t have taken ‘em into the _markets_.”

“That’s not - “

“Seungcheol,” Chan crosses his arms, a furrow to his brow, “you know what we do, right? What you came onboard for?”

“I…” Seungcheol falters, squashing down the little voice at the back of his head reminding him that he’d really only been looking for a ride off the planet, “yes. I know.”

“So then?” Chan raises his arms in a shrug, mouth pursing into a tight line, “What’s your problem?”

“I just…” Seungcheol shuffles in place, mind racing to think up an excuse, “We shouldn’t draw attention to ourselves, is all. It’s risky.”

“I’m not some _amateur_ ,” Chan throws out, cocky tilt of his head making Seungcheol feel impossibly small and angry at the same time, “though… You’re still on probation, aren’t you.”

Seungcheol lifts his head, wary, “Why?”

Chan scratches his head, grinning in a way so eerily reminiscent of Jeonghan that Seungcheol shivers under his jacket, “Tell you what - I’ll return them. I’ll return them if _you_ go out there and uh, appropriate something.”

“You want _me_ to - “

“Why not? You said you knew what you were coming onboard for. Or should I tell Jeonghan that - “

“No,” Seungcheol cuts him off, rubbing over his chest like he can ease away that phantom sting of betrayal. Chan doesn’t owe him anything, and Seungcheol would be stupid if he’d expected anything different, “no. I’ll… I just haven’t um, pickpocketed before so - “

“Then I’ll give you an easy target. Easier than easy.” Chan cracks his jaw open in a yawn, jabs a thumb at a stall across the street where colourful towers of fruit threaten to topple with every accidental collision with the stall. “One of those apples. I like the yellow ones.”

“I really think that - “

“Probation.” Chan reminds him lazily. “I like you Seungcheol but we haven’t gotten to where we have by letting any old person join us. I know Jeonghan personally recruited you but…” He shrugs, a hard glint in his eye, “You _were_ police. Old habits die hard. Or not at all, you never know.”

“I’m not _with_ them anymore.” Seungcheol says and tries to ignore that little voice in his head that whispers _weren’t you? not for your lack of trying?_

“Then prove it.” 

Some part of Seungcheol thinks that the stealing part of this whole thing is actually going to be easier than fucking getting to the stall in the first place. If he thought keeping up with Chan in the crowd was difficult earlier, struggling to horizontally cross the stream of people going every which way is infinitely more impossible. 

“Shit - Oi! Watch where you’re going, fucking terran.”

“800 creds! A genuine Mod 657 carburetor, only 800 creds!”

“Babe, you know I never want to _ask_ you to buy me anything but - “

Seungcheol ducks under a big man’s arm, swinging in an enthusiastic wave to someone else on the other side of the market, weaves between a pair of friends swapping the latest gossip right in the middle of the pathway, dodges around at least three couple fights, before he reaches the other side. It takes every ounce of sneakiness in his bones, leftover from his days trailing and staking out cheating spouses and their sidepieces, to haul himself over in one piece and he knows deep in his bones that Chan will be laughing it up over on the other side. 

“Oooh, are you okay young man?”

Seungcheol’s head lifts and his heart sinks. Behind the stall, hidden previously by the towers of glossy fruit, is an old lady. Maybe nearing her hundreds, she smiles kindly down at him, whole face creasing up with the force of it.

“Do you need to take a breather, darling?” She says, tottering over and extending him a spotted hand and oh god, oh god, Seungcheol’s not sure he can actually do this. It goes everything he stands for, stealing from a nice old lady with only the loveliest of intentions, even if it’s just an apple. On the other hand though, it’s only an apple. Maybe three creds at the most. Literally the difference between getting to live a little longer and having his ashes scattered in the sewers of Mars. 

He casts a look behind him nervously - he can’t see Chan through the crowd but he can sure as hell feel the weight of his gaze burning through him like cold fire. 

“Hyegard is a little overwhelming the first time you visit, isn’t it?”

He musters up a smile, as nice-young-man as he can get it, “It really is. I think I’ve probably lost my partner out there in that crowd.” 

“Oh dear,” she shakes her head, tugging at his hand feebly in a gesture of support. Seungcheol puts all his weight on one knee and hauls himself up on that instead, giving her a grateful look all the same, “that’s no good. What is it - a date? Your honeymoon?” 

“Oh no, we’re not quite - “

“Because these Goldens are _lovely_ honeymoon gifts, revered by the Ancient Martians, so they say. A symbol of desire and fertility - “

“ - not quite _uhh_ , married yet.” Seungcheol’s eyes widen, seizing on the opportunity. He sees her eyes soften and it makes his brain tip into overdrive. What if… what if she _gives_ him the apple. Freely. That would still count right? Sure, he’d be committing fraud maybe but it could be just enough to satiate his conscience and hopefully Chan too. “Is um, what I meant. Though, you know, I’m uh, thinking of changing that soon. Maybe I should get him some of these then, they look delicious.”

“That is so sweet, how long have you two been together?” She croons, replacing the apple on the pile and Seungcheol bites down on the inside of his cheek, pulling threads of stories together in his head to weave a narrative for her.

“Oh,” he finds himself saying, “it feels like _forever_. It was love at first sight, you know the feeling? When you know someone’s just so… so right for you.”

He falters for a moment, a flash of blue and a laugh trailing in the air from the thin alleyway situated just to the left of the store drawing his focus. A bitter smile starts to curl its way up on his lips but he banishes it as quick as it came - looks like he still hasn’t outrun that particular phantom yet. 

“ - remember the feeling.” The woman is saying when he tunes back into the real world, swaying slightly with her eyes misted over. “When you look at your person and just know. My wife, I knew she was it for me the second she saw this little thief swiping an apple from my store and chased him right off! When I tell you I nearly swooned right on the spot,” she chuckles, a dry little _hehehe_ filled with so much joy it makes Seungcheol’s heart swell, “I hope your man makes you feel the same way.”

“He does,” Seungcheol fibs, trying to inject as much sincerity as he can into his words, “we met at uh, when we were both working. A joint project between our companies and we just,” he shrugs helplessly, doing his best impression of enamoured, and she sighs like a giddy teenager, “hit it off right away. I was practically living out of his apartment after a couple months, he just had this way of making me feel so… light. Like all the worries of the world would melt away and it was just him and me alone in the whole galaxy.”

“Oh darling,” she croaks and places a wizened hand over her heart. She waddles over to the tower of Goldens and swipes one off the top with surprising dexterity, extending it to him, “here. For your darling, I love seeing love you see. I’m sure the both of you are sweet as anything together.”

“People do say we make a good couple,” he smiles weakly and holds the apple to his chest tightly. There’s an almost glow to it, the fruit bigger than the size of his fist. He sniffs it, the smell of heady sweet nectar filling his senses, “thank you, he’s going to love it. However can I thank - “

“Vermin! You fucker! I knew I’d seen you before!” 

A screech pierces through the market and Seungcheol pales, clutching the apple closer to him like it’d get stolen otherwise. The stallowner looks less perturbed though just as surprised, trying to peer around the ocean of bodies to discern the source of the voice.

“I would swear,” she’s muttering when Seungcheol manages to hear a snatch of her words, “sweetie is that…”

“Darling!”

The crowd parts like the sea for the woman stomping towards them. And it’s no wonder - she may be on the older side but she’s Seungcheol’s height, maybe taller in those chunky boots of hers, and no less intimidating for the cords of muscle bulking up her arms. The tide of civilians close right back in her wake, people losing interest just as quickly as they continue to meander in streams, and Seungcheol can do nothing but tremble in his loafers as she makes her way to the stall. 

Seungcheol is about to tentatively offer his protection, some grandiose statement about how he’d protect this stall and its owner with his life, when the woman disregards him completely and leans down to kiss the elderly stallowner on the cheek.

“Hello darling,” the stallowner chuckles dryly, pinching her wife’s cheek, “I did think that was your voice out there.”

“Oh yes well,” the woman ducks her head like she’s blushing, a little sheepish even as she drags out a whole fucking Chan from behind her and practically whirls him onto the ground, “caught a familiar face out there, don’t you recognise him?”

“Oh,” the stallowner pushes up the little wire spectacles on the edge of her nose and peers right down at him, Chan trying to scramble away to no avail, “why I’m not sure. Is he an old customer, my eyesight isn’t too good.”

“He’s the little thief I caught last time!” The woman snarls, kicking Chan in the back with the front of her boot. He yelps and swears up a storm only for the stallowner to frown and reach for a rag around her waist, twisting it up at delivering a crisp _smack_ to Chan’s face. It leaves a red mark behind, blood close to the skin, and he shuts up. “Look, even his howling is exactly the same.”

“Oh, if you say so. Should we call the police to pick him up?”

“Already done, dearest.” The woman simpers before it dips into a sneer aimed at Chan, followed by another hard kick to his back that makes Seungcheol sympathy-wince, “They should be able to deal with a nasty little pest like you.”

“Wait, this is the thief that stole from you before?” Seungcheol says incredulously, eyeing Chan in shock. Why the fuck would Chan send him on a mission he had failed at before? Vengeance? On the store owners? On him?

“Oh, do you recognise him too, honey?” The stallowner totters to face him. “Did he steal something from you too? You can lodge a report the same time as us, no problem. Darling, this is - oh dear, what was your name again, young man?”

“I’m uh - “

“Brother!” Chan wails from the ground, turns beseeching desperate eyes onto Seungcheol. “Brother, you recognise me don’t you? You’ll vouch for me! I didn’t steal a damn thing - one moment I was waiting where you told me to and the next I got kidnapped and dragged all the way across the market, I’m so scared!”

“Brother?” Two pairs of curious eyes turn on him and Seungcheol finds his outer skin scorching up pink. In the corner of his eye, far above the crowds, dark suits are approaching from the far end of the market, two of them with official crests on the helmets. Seungcheol breathes, quick and panicked, short huffs of breath as he looks between the stallowner and her wife, the police and Chan. Chan whom he thought he could trust, his only ally aboard the ship who’s now turned on him apparently,sending him off on this fucking probation mission.

What if, he asks himself wildly, what if I just _run_. Go with it, say Chan’s a thief, that’s he’s stolen my jewelry from me. Swipe it when it’s ‘returned’ and run off to hide somewhere on Hyegard until the heat dies down. Pawn the stuff off to start a new life on here, no one would be looking for me. Yoon would cut their losses, the NSPD would never guess, it’s basically perfect. I’m off Mars anyways - what’s left for me on the ship except either death, jailtime and/or unfriendly shipmates?

“Brother, _tell them_ .” Chan hisses, making a strangled sound of pain when his ear gets yanked, the tall woman squinting at his facial features with suspicion written all over her expression. “ _Tell them_.”

“I - “

Fuck, he can’t do it. All these years with the NSPD apparently taught him nothing, he’s still fucking loyal to a fault. Chan may have been a dick to him today but Seungcheol can’t repay his kindness on the ship with a betrayal. It’s just not in him.

“...I was looking for you! I didn’t know you’d get caught up in something like this, stand up, come on come on.”

“So he is your brother then?” The taller lady scratches her head with delicate nails and knobbly hands. “Were you both here three years earlier during the third season?”

“Nope,” Seungcheol lies smoothly, patting down Chan’s clothes and cooing over him like he supposes a good elder brother would do, “not at all. Channie is a good boy, he only follows the law, isn’t that right? Isn’t that how mum raised us?”

“...sure.” Chan bares his teeth in an attempt at a grin and Seungcheol just laughs nervously, pats Chan on the head and flashes his own smile in an attempt to smooth things over.

“I am very sorry about my brother, he really is quite a handful. Apologies for the confusion but we’re from Mars and he is definitely not the thief you were thinking of, maybe we’ll just leave now and let - “

“Disturbance report - someone reported a theft?”

“Us, we did.” The taller lady crosses her arms, still not entirely convinced. “That boy over there looks an awful like the thief that got away from us three years ago - the guy next to him claims he’s his brother and they weren’t around here during that time, but I’d still feel better if you could conduct a search anyways.”

Chan stiffens against Seungcheol, all hard muscle. Ready to spring at the first sight of trouble. Tentatively, Seungcheol places a hand on his shoulder, grounding. Stay.

“Go ahead,” Seungcheol announces confidently, bowing his head at the stallowner in a show of respect, “madam was kind enough to give me an apple as a gift for my soon-to-be fiancee - “

Chan’s head whips around and he stares at him, bug-eyed. _Fiancee?_ he mouths.

Seungcheol taps his shoulder twice: later.

“ - I think we’d be fine for the Hyegard force to conduct a search however they think fit, to reciprocate the trust that was put in me.”

One of the officers grunts and Chan looks at Seungcheol with wide scared eyes. _The stuff_ he mouths anxiously, _the comms?_

“It’ll be okay Channie,” Seungcheol says and that’s the best he can do, linking pinkies with Chan and giving him a gentle push in the direction of the officer and his scanner wand, “just let the nice officer search you.”

His face is scared the entire time the wand waves around him, lips chapped and pupils shaking. It’s trepidation the entire time, a heart-pounding wait as the wand does its calculations.

Three beeps and. All blue. All clear. 

“No stolen items,” the officer says dryly, “looks like he’s clean.”

Chan nearly chokes on his relieved surprise and Seungcheol isn’t the only one noticing it.

“I’m searching him too.” The muscled lady doesn’t wait before making Chan spread his arms and legs wide like a star, patting down his sides aggressively and sliding hands into whichever pockets she finds. There are a surprising number hidden away in Chan’s outfit.

Lighter, comms device, some fidget tool designed like a top. Typical teenage boy stuff.

“...He’s clean,” she announces reluctantly, grumpy even as she makes her way back to her wife’s side and folds herself over her shoulder and despite the brutality with which they roughed Chan up with, they’re kinda cute.

“I hope that satisfied your curiosity,” Seungcheol bows and makes Chan do the same with a hand firmly on his back, pushing him down, “I apologise for the trouble my brother caused however uh,” he pretends to check his comms device, “my fiancee is waiting for us back at the hotel room. He got tired apparently,” he taps his nose secretively at the stallowner and she lets out a little amused laugh, “you know how it is.”

“That I do,” she says gently, ribbing her partner who just seems content to sulk on her shoulder at a missed opportunity, “have a lovely time on Hyegard, darlings. And oh dear, I do apologise for that little mark there, it’s just you look so much like that little bastard who stole some of my Goldens last time.”

“We’ll escort you to your hotel.” One of the officers, the taller, says in a no-nonsense tone. “Wouldn’t want anymore trouble now.”

“No,” Seungcheol links arms tight with Chan and ignores all his attempts to wiggle free, “of course not. Well then.” He shares a nervous glance with Chan, swallows down his anxiety and says. “Lead the way.”

**Author's Note:**

> stay tuned for more crime family babeyyyy


End file.
